


Us

by alafaye



Series: Through Life [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-11
Updated: 2012-12-11
Packaged: 2017-11-20 21:49:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/590013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alafaye/pseuds/alafaye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John finds out about Irene, but keeps his temper. And Sherlock comes face to face with his own emotions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Us

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2012 holiday challenge at the LJ communit adventchallenge. Prompt "forgiveness".

John pinched himself when he walked into the sitting room. When it hurt, he looked for Sherlock who was sitting on his chair, fingers pressed together. He was pointedly looking at the fireplace, not at the other end of the room. John nodded. "Right. Tea."

"If you would be so kind, Doctor Watson," Irene said from the couch.

"Tea for three then," John muttered.

Kettle. Cups. Tea bags. Milk. "Sugar?" he called. Silence. He thought he could hear both of them mock him for asking, but he wasn't sure. 

Sherlock shuffled into the kitchen behind him and John knew it was him--Irene would have made more noise. He blindly handed over one of the cups. "Mycroft did say it would take Sherlock Holmes to fool him."

"He also said that I am his greatest security leak," Sherlock said. "Like myself, Mycroft is rarely wrong."

Neither of them wisely mentioned how wrong he had been with Moriarty. Irene sighed unhappily as she joined them in the kitchen. "Nothing but PG tips?"

John handed her a cup with a tight smile. "Sorry."

"Don't," Sherlock said.

Irene raised an eyebrow and smirked. "My, how cosy you two are."

Sherlock looked at John, eyes betraying some idea of worry which was understandable for John. It was just three months ago that they tersely agreed what their relationship was. Now, Irene Adler. John scrubbed his face with his hands and groaned.

"I only want his mind, John," Irene said. When John scoffed, she shrugged. "Oh, I might give that body a go, but I really must admit that the male form does nothing for me sexually."

Sherlock cut her a look that was complete curiosity and John smirked. Irene smiled. "Why ask me to dinner then?" Sherlock asked.

She looked him up and down. "He would be worth it. Wouldn't he, John?" She looked at John then and clucked her tongue. "Ah. I was wrong."

"Not gay," John said.

She wrinkled her nose in distaste. Sherlock sipped his tea. John sighed again. "I should probably go out to get the fixings for Christmas dinner if we're going to have a guest, yeah?"

Neither of them said anything. John sipped his tea, unsettled.

~~~

John was holding a bag of oranges and wondering if they would go bad if he got them. Sherlock never ate fruit and while John liked them, he didn't like them that much. He thought about Irene and decdied the less he knew of what she liked, the better. And maybe if he was less the welcoming, she wouldn't be over as often. He chuckled darkly. She was too much like Sherlock. Nothing would stop her if she wanted to be somewhere. If it wasn't because she didn't know what someone liked, it was simply because she wanted to be there.

John put the oranges back and moved on. He hadn't made a list before leaving, but he did remember last year. And the year before. Both of them with Mary. He stopped by the potatoes, but his mind was full of memories. He squeezed the handle of the carriage, the worn edges digging in and cutting through. He took a deep breath and took only a few potatoes instead of a full bag. The memories he pushed back, focusing on the present.

As he rounded the corner into the frozen foods, he was stopped by Anthea. Right. Mycroft. John sighed and left his carriage. Texting, Anthea led him to a waiting car and yet another deserted warehouse. 

"A gift basket has been dropped off at 221 B Baker Street," Mycroft greeted John. "A...present for your unexpected guest."

John lifted his head and stuck his hands in his pockets. "I didn't know."

Mycroft nodded. "I know."

Of course he knew. John was often the only one left in the dark. "So go talk to your brother, not me."

Mycroft tapped his umbrella once on the floor. "Why would I do that?"

John shook his head. "All I was honestly hoping for was a quiet, uneventful Christmas." He'd spent the last two Christmases with Mary in happy celebration. It had been good. Warm. This year, John was looking forward to several cups of tea and Sherlock playing the violin. Maybe Mrs. Hudson popping in for a short visit. That would have been nice. "You sort it out now. I refuse to have the day interrupted by your sibling argument after this."

Mycroft sighed. "John, I only wish to know how Sherlock is."

"You have your cameras and spies," John countered.

"Not inside and Sherlock has not left since I was alerted to an intruder," Mycroft said.

John huffed. "And I told you before, I will not spy on him for you. You want to know how he is? Go ask. Like a proper adult."

~~~

The gift "basket" was sitting on the kitchen table. Mrs. Hudson was setting out the contents, eyes wide. "Oh, John! Can you believe this? A full Christmas dinner. Someone dropped it off, said it was a thank you." She smiled into the living room. "Another case solved, dear?"

Irene chuckled and John sighed. "Yeah, a case." He helped her put the rest away and when she'd left, went to find Sherlock.

"In there," Irene said wickedly.

John eyed her, but as Sherlock had left her on her own, decided that not much could happen. He knocked on the door, but didn't wait for an answer. Inside, Sherlock was smoking by the open window. "Should've told me to bring my jacket," John said, pulling the sleeves of his jumper down to cover his hands.

Sherlock wrinkled his nose. "What did Mycroft say?"

"He asked me to spy on you again," John said. "He's not sure what to do."

"Does he know?" Sherlock asked.

"Yeah, but I'm not sure how," John said. He looked around the bedroom. "Maybe we should debug the flat again."

Sherlock put out the cigarette and crossed his arms over his chest. John shifted his weight between his feet. "Sherlock--"

"Don't," Sherlock hissed. "I don't need to hear it."

John looked up and closed his eyes. He counted to ten and when he looked down, Sherlock was watching him with dark, curious eyes. John licked his lips and started to say something, but couldn't find the right words. He sat on the bed and rubbed his hands together. Still no words.

Sherlock shuffled, clothes whispering. "I should have told you."

John shook his head. "I don't need to know."

"But you deserve to know," Sherlock said. "You're my...John."

John looked over and noted how worried Sherlock looked. He patted the bed next to him and Sherlock haltingly sat down. John leaned against him. "Why do I deserve to know?" John asked quietly.

Sherlock was silent for a long, tense moment. "Because she's The Woman."

John heard the capitals and understood that it wasn't referring to her work. "The only one?"

"Other than my mother? Yes."

John digested that and turned it over in his mind. He tentatively took Sherlock's hand in his and squeezed a little. "I learned something, Sherlock. Before I met you. It isn't something that's easy to accept or like, but sometimes, a person can love more than one other at a time. A mate of mine in the army--he was real quiet about this, but people tell you all kinds of things when you're knitting them back together on the battle field." Moments like that came back to John, bits and pieces. Sometimes it was a confession of sorts, sometimes it was just to not be thinking about the fact that your innards were being hastily sewn back into you in a dusty field.

"He had two lovers back home. Not the kind that he saw on one shore leave, the other the next time. They were together _together_. All three of them. Before that, though, he said that he'd met one of them while he was dating the other. Open relationship. He said he struggled with loving them at the same time, but they were good about it. He didn't keep it quiet, you know? And they were okay with it. They fell in love with each other and him and it was...it was okay."

Sherlock grumbled. "You're rambling."

Because he didn't know what he was trying to say. "Sherlock--when you were gone and I had Mary, I still...loved you. It's possible to love two people at once and for everything to be all right." It wasn't what John had meant to say, but in the end, it kind of meant the same.

"I don't understand love," Sherlock growled with a little anger darkening his words.

"I know," John said. 

"She won't stay."

"Of course not."

Another long tense silence. Sherlock finally cleared his throat. "Is it okay?"

 _Could it not be okay_ was the better question, John decided. At the end of the day, though, Irene would leave and it would just be Sherlock and John. She might come back and probably would, but she wasn't the kind of person who would want to stay with any one person for long. And when John and Sherlock had agreed to their whatever-it-was, she had been alive and Sherlock had told John he wanted him as his partner.

That, John decided, meant everything.

"It's okay."

~~~

"He's a bit boring, isn't he?" Irene asked John later in the week. It had been a week of no cases and Sherlock had fallen into one of his moods. He'd barely moved in the last...John checked the clock...ten hours.

"No cases," John shrugged. He poked the turkey with a thermometer and let out a breath. He took it out and settled it on the kitchen table--mostly cleared of Sherlock's experiments--to sit for a few.

"This happens a lot then," she said with distaste.

Sherlock sighed and John smirked. "I get my reading done. Quieter and all." He thought he saw Sherlock glare at him, but when he turned to look, Sherlock was still staring up at the ceiling.

Irene clucked her tongue. "Shame. He could be doing so much more."

"The work is the only thing that matters," Sherlock called out.

John shrugged and set out plates and silverware. "Joining us?"

"Transport, John!" Sherlock said. He seemed to sink deeper into the couch.

Irene hummed disapprovingly. "I shall have to be off soon. Especially if Sherlock continues to be boring."

Sherlock turned to glare and John chuckled. "Now you've done it."

Irene raised an eyebrow. John continued to set the table. 

It was all okay.


End file.
